


Dragon of Carthage

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Gods of Death [2]
Category: Highlander
Genre: Alternate Universe, GFY, Horsemen Era, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy is nothing impressive at first glance, just another servant-slave of the house. Until the morning after some strangers take a room and screams ring out in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon of Carthage

Kronos is woken by the sound of someone gagging, his eyes snapping open as he looks toward the door. One of the servants of the house is there, staring at the bodies scattered across the floor, and looking as if he's about to be ill. He hasn't yet realized Kronos is awake, and a slow smile spreads across Kronos' face as he jostles Methos and Alysse to wake them as well.

Methos goes from sleep to being fully awake in an instant, though he doesn't move, or even change the pattern of his breathing. Instead, he flicks a glance first at the door, then at Kronos, feeling one corner of his mouth curve up in a smile. He can't turn to look at Alysse without giving the game away, so instead he lifts an eyebrow at Kronos, silently offering him the first chance at the man, if he wants it.

His grin widening a moment, Kronos disentangles himself from Methos and Alysse, drawing the young man's attention to the fact he's awake. Riveting attention on him, which distracts from Methos and Alysse for now. Not that it stops the yelp, or the attempt to flee as Kronos takes long strides across the room. Grabbing the young man by the neck, he hauls him back into the room. The noise is likely to draw the attention of other guests, and the owners of the house, but Kronos isn't too worried about that. They're mortal, after all, and will die easily.

"What do you think we ought to do with this one, brother?" Kronos all but tosses the young man - boy, really - across the room, the grin he directs at Methos and Alysse bloodthirsty and bright.

Methos pokes at the boy with a bare foot, then gets out of bed. "Good question," he says. "He's not really pretty enough to be worth selling for his looks, and he doesn't look strong enough to be worth selling for labor, either." He tips his head to one side, looking the hapless mortal over assessingly. "He's not even large enough for his skin to be of use as leather." What he _is_ good for, though, is being afraid. Methos can feel the terror pouring off of him, and the wide, frightened dark eyes are particularly intoxicating. "I wonder - what do you think he would do to his friends, in exchange for his life?" Methos asks, looking at Kronos. "How far do you think he'd go?"

Kronos studies the boy with predatory interest, amused by the terror and the thought of seeing just what they could get him to do. "Oh, I think he'd do just about anything, if it meant he walked out of this alive."

Alysse has shifted so she's sprawled on her stomach on the bed, her head tilted just slightly to one side and expression almost unreadable, save for the light of curiosity in her eyes. A faint smile curves her lips until she looks up, when it widens into a delighted grin. "That sounds like an excellent way to start the day, brothers."

"We could take turns," Methos suggests. "Whichever of us comes up with something he _won't_ do either wins or owes a forfeit; I'm not sure which would work best." He shrugs. "There has to be some way to make a game out of it, at any rate."

"I think one wins a forfeit." Alysse tilts her head to the other side, watching the boy. "Start with something easy, I think. Just a little something to warm up with." She shrugs, and addresses the boy. "How many others are there in the house, including the guests?"

The boy looks between them a moment before stuttering out a reply. Twelve really isn't too many at all, yet still plenty enough to have some fun with. So long as none of them have left already to fetch soldiers of some sort, at any rate.

"Why don't we go and round them up?" Methos suggests, pulling his tunic back on over his head. "I'd hate for any of them to leave before the festivities start. I can't _stand_ being interrupted." He bends down to stroke the boy's cheek gently. "That's why you get a chance to live," he says, smiling faintly. "We weren't doing anything when you came in."

The boy shivers, and nods mutely, not daring to move.

Alysse rolls off the bed onto her feet, reaching for her own tunic, a far too cheerful smile on her face as she contemplates the morning's entertainment to come. "And having someone around to draw a proper hot bath after this will be quite useful, too, brother." Since they'll have to wash the blood off them afterward, she's sure. Leaving it to dry on their skin would attract a little too much attention, and not all of it of the entertainingly mortal sort. She's not particularly interested in dealing with scavengers after they're done.

"I'd have done that for you, sister mine, if we'd decided to slaughter them to the last man." Looking at her, Methos wants nothing more at that moment than to kiss her, so he does, for a long moment. "Shall Kronos and I go and fetch the rest, or would you like to help catch them?" he asks.

Looking thoughtful a moment, Alysse settles back on the bed, smiling. "I don't think they're so difficult as to require all of us, and I can use the time to think of something suitable for the first real round of this little game."

Kronos smiles, his tunic already on, and waiting at the door. "Don't start without us," he says, before grinning at Methos, anticipating at least one person causing them enough trouble to start the bloodshed a little sooner.

"If we're careful, we should be able to get all of them," Methos says, picking up his sword. "Maybe even without hurting any of them too badly." He glances at Alysse. "I assume you can keep any we bring back under control while we go and fetch the rest?"

"Oh, yes." Alysse smiles, the expression caught somewhere between vicious and delighted, watching the boy still cowering on the floor with a smile that does nothing to comfort. "That I can do very well." She'd had practice in keeping an entire village under her control, terrified and half in love with her as the personification of the sea that was provider and destroyer rolled in one.

Rounding up the rest of the mortals is neither a lengthy nor a difficult process -- at least, not after a few judicious threats and one very graphic example. Looking at the group of cowering mortals, Methos can't help wondering why it took him so long to realize that _this_ is what they were meant for.

"Why don't we have Alysse and our guest of honor join us down here?" he suggests. "There's more room to work than there is upstairs."

Kronos smiles as he lounges against the wall, the terror that's palpable in the room intoxicating. Methos is right, in that there's more room to work - and they don't particularly need the privacy a room upstairs will provide. "I like the way you think, brother." He shifts, shoving away from the wall long enough to go upstairs to grab the boy, jerking his head toward the stairs as he hauls the boy in that direction.

In his wake, Alysse all but skips along, her weaponry secured about her while he and Methos had been rounding up the other mortals. Her pet child is left staring vacant-eyed at the ceiling, murdered in that period of time as well, leaving her more than enough time to pay closer attention to the game they're planning to play with the boy.

Shoving the boy ahead of him so he sprawls heavily on the floor, Kronos smiles at Methos once more, resuming his position lounging against the wall. "Your turn first, brother." As Methos has more recent grievances against mortals, Kronos thinks. It doesn't really matter, in the end, so long as the three of them enjoy themselves.

"My thanks," Methos says absently, already running a critical glance over the group, then turning his attention to the boy. He's torn between starting small and simply having the boy kill one of the other mortals. Starting with a death will break that particular taboo right away and will probably be easier for the boy than merely causing pain, as he won't have to worry that his victim will survive to blame him later. Smiling faintly, he reaches down and helps the boy to his feet before handing him the knife. 

"Kill one of them," he says, indicating the group of mortals. "Whichever one you like: I don't care how you do it." The boy's glance flickers briefly from Methos' face to the huddled mortals, and Methos smiles. Apparently there's at least one person the boy won't mind killing: it will make that first step even easier for him

Alysse perches on the stairs, watching with her chin in her hand. There's a faint smile on her face, and an intense focus in her gaze as she watches the boy. She can sense more about him than just the potential for entertainment, and it had sharpened without Methos or Kronos in the room to muddle the thin thread of potential in him. Before, when she'd sensed such, she'd always disposed of the potential in such a way they wouldn't become like her. There'd never been a point to doing anything otherwise.

This time, though, she's looking forward to making another of their kind, binding him to them with blood and joyful violence. Another god to stain mortal souls with terror.

One of the huddled mortals has disdain slipping through the fear, focused on the boy who holds Methos' knife. The boy points him out, his voice cracking as he quietly asks if they can separate him from the rest. He doesn't want to be surrounded by the others when he kills him, doesn't want to risk the rest of the household killing him when he's trying to survive this.

"Of course." Methos crosses the room and grabs the man by the wrist, yanking him away from the rest of the group before giving his arm a vicious twist and forcing him to his knees. "I'll even hold him for you," he offers, grabbing the man's hair and jerking his head back to expose the throat.

The boy hesitates only a brief moment before the knife comes flashing down, driving not into the man's throat, but into his shoulder just to one side. Stabbing at him again and again, blood spattering about, a low-pitched snarl of wordless fury finally unleashed by the promise that there would be no retaliation from the others here for this. He doesn't much care about the guards of the city, or what anyone else will think when he's the only that lives through this.

Kronos grins at the fury of the boy's attack, nodding to himself as he looks over the mortals as well, his eyes lighting on the matron of the house - or rather, on the younger woman, barely more than a girl, that she holds close to her side. The girl's face is hidden in the crook of her mother's neck, and he can all but see her shivering with suppressed sobs. A cruel light gleams in his eyes as he waits for the boy to finish with his current victim so he might direct him to the next.

Methos watches the boy's face during the attack, able to sympathize only too well with the rage that's driving him. As the body shudders and goes limp under his hands, he lets it drop to the floor.

"Better?" he asks quietly, and continues without waiting for the answer. "Don't wear yourself out; remember, there are more of them."

The boy pants, a shiver running through him before he turns, stomach heaving, though there's nothing to bring up. The convulsive reaction doesn't last long, his hands on his knees as he sucks in gasping breaths, visibly trying to tame his reaction.

Kronos pushes away from the wall again, reaching out to grasp the boy's shoulder, pulling him upright. He swats the knife aside when the boy reacts instinctively, if clumsily, knocking the blade out of his hand. Turning the boy to face the mortals again, stepping up close behind him. "Get the girl from her mother, and bring her here."

A slow start to his turn in this game, but he's not going to overwhelm the boy with too many instructions at once. Even if the boy does figure out what he has in mind, which he doubts. Not yet.

Methos reaches for one of the chairs and pulls it over, settling himself into it with a private smile. He and Kronos - and probably Alysse as well - are apparently thinking along the same lines. They've known one another for less than a day, but he already feels as if it's been much longer. He can't remember the last time he'd fit so easily _anywhere_ , let alone with others of his kind - perhaps because he's always tried to make himself fit, instead of reworking the world so that it fits him instead. It was foolishness on his part to have taken so long to learn that lesson, but now that he has, he's taken it to heart. Pretending to be less than he is, trying to play mortal - that's _finished_ , and the realization is like the relief of being able to stretch long-cramped muscles after years in a too-small cell.

Frowning a little, the boy edges among the others, some of whom fall away in fear - and that gives him an unfamiliar thrill - others who try to block his way to the girl. He shoves them aside, not willing to let them keep him from doing what he's been told, not when his life depends on doing so. He wraps his hand around her wrist, ignoring the shriek of mingled anger and fear from her mother, and pulls her with him. Back to the man who'd given the command, though he doesn't let go, afraid she'll just run back to her mother and he'll have to get her again.

Kronos smiles, a grin that widens when the girl cringes away from him, tugging futilely at her captive wrist. He turns his attention back to the boy, an approving expression on his face that allows for a moment's relaxation in the boy. Until he offers the knife to him, and waves a negligent hand at the girl. "Cut her clothing off." No explaining why, no admonishment to be careful, or even not to kill her. Though his little game will be over too quickly if the boy does manage that.

Methos props his chin in his hand, watching Kronos watch the boy. Yes - this fits, this is right, in a way he can't entirely define. He'd never realized how easy it could be to simply take what he wanted, to step beyond mortal definitions of right and wrong, just and unjust. Alysse has it right when she says that they're gods - what better definition of deity is there than the ability to do whatever one wants, whatever one can conceive of?

Hesitating a moment, the boy takes the knife, a small frown of thought on his face as he does what Kronos wants him to do. Trying to figure out what he's supposed to do to make the older man happy. To keep him from deciding he's failed to do enough to keep his life, and takes it from him. Slitting the girl's tunic from neck to hem doesn't take much thought, though she shrinks away from the blade, and he has to tighten his grip on her wrist to make her hold still.

With a nod, Kronos steps closer, herding the girl closer to the boy simply by where he stands. Watching her for a moment before he darts out a hand to grab her upper arm, her yelp easily ignored. The boy lets go almost as soon as Kronos has a grip, and Kronos yanks, pulling her off balance, and sending her to her knees. The boy meets his gaze a moment, confusion and uncertainty in his face, with an underlying desperation to get this right, to survive.

"Use her, boy." Kronos doesn't even look over at the mortals, despite the clamor that the mother is putting up, at least. He's wondering if the boy ever has had a woman before, in any manner, or if his hesitation is something more insidious, like some lingering sense of morality.

The noise the girl's mother is making is getting on Methos' nerves. He wants to be able to focus on what's going on in front of him, and she's high-pitched and distracting, and irritating beyond measure. He's out of his chair and across the room almost before she realizes he's moved, and grabbing her by the hair and jerking her head back is effortless. 

"You have a choice," he tells her evenly. "Silence, or a slit throat. I don't feel like listening to your shrieking right now."

She falls silent abruptly, and after a moment's appraisal he lets go of her hair and recrosses the room to sit back down, dismissing her utterly now that she's stopped screaming.

Kronos smiles to himself when Methos silences the mother, though the boy is still hesitating. Never mind what sort of forfeit he wins from the other two, he still loses because of the boy's unwillingness.

"Am I not clear enough, boy?" Kronos tosses the girl to one side, keeping between her and the others, though she doesn't move from where she lands. Too afraid, perhaps, to move, which suits him just fine. He takes a step toward the boy, whose eyes widen as he stumbles backward.

"I've never...!" he yelps, holding up his arms as if trying to ward off a blow that doesn't come. He lowers them only once Kronos starts to laugh, relief and confusion mixing with heightened terror in his expression.

Looking over at Methos, Kronos grins, good mood restored with a pair of words and an assumption as to their meaning. His voice is mocking as he speaks, glancing at the boy with a cruel glint in his eyes. "A little bonus to our game, would you say, brother?"

"Oh, yes." Methos' answering smile looks pleasant enough at first glance, but there's a hint of viciousness in it that matches the gleam in Kronos' eyes. Tying the boy's sexuality inextricably to the violence he'll perpetrate here will be even easier than he'd expected. By the time they're finished with him, the boy will be a masterpiece of destructive impulses and bloody desires.

Turning back to his little game, Kronos decides to change his tactics, at least some. A glance at the mortals, and he wades in to grab the serving girl who'd brought their dinner by the collar of her tunic. Kicking aside a younger man who tries to stop him, leaving him gasping on the floor as he drags her to a free spot of floor. Alysse moves from where she's sitting to hold the serving girl without Kronos needing to say a word.

He grabs the boy by the shoulder, shoving him toward the girl who still huddles against the floor. "Keep her from moving. Watch, and learn." That he'll expect the boy to at least make some imitation of him when he returns his attention to him goes unspoken.

His sword is handed to Alysse in exchange for the girl, and he backhands the servant to the ground. She screams, brief and shrill, before swallowing her sobs once she glances at his face. Silent and pale as he loosens the ties on his trousers, trembling slightly as he crouches to shove her tunic up around her waist.

She's tight around his cock as he forces his way in, and another brief shriek is forced from her throat at the pain before she bites her lip, drawing blood as she tries to keep from making any other noise. He smiles at her pain, thrusting hard and fast without any care for her comfort, until he achieves physical release. It's not the sort of sheer joy that the night before had been, but the pain and humiliation that are painted on the girl's face make up for that.

The boy's expression is a study in conflicting emotion, and Methos watches them play across his face with a privately amused smile, turning his attention back to Kronos after a moment or two. In a way, he's as much a student here as is the boy, and though they're currently learning very different things in very different ways, the underlying lesson is the same. Mortals are toys, and temporary ones at that. If you want it, take it - it's yours by right, by virtue of being Immortal, for as long as you can keep it.

Picking up the torn tunic that's on the floor to clean himself before doing up his trousers once more, Kronos turns his attention from the servant sprawled on the floor back to the boy. There's still a shred of hesitation in his face, and Kronos scoops up the knife that's been abandoned. It makes up the boy's mind easily enough, and he hurries to shed his own trousers.

His attempt to mimic Kronos is clumsy and hesitant, and Kronos holds back a growl of frustration. At least the boy doesn't balk entirely, and that's enough for a start. And he does, after a rather boring several minutes, finish. Though he looks disappointed - something to work with, and he hears Alysse unfold from her seat on the stairs once more.

The boy's performance is hardly what Methos would call inspired, or even interesting, at least on its own merits. As a building block, though, it works very nicely indeed, down to the less than satisfied expression on the boy's face, and Methos turns a critical eye to the remaining mortals, wondering if they have any idea as to the use that's being made of them. Probably not - it's unlikely that any of them have the imagination to think of it.

Alysse hands Kronos' sword back to him, drawing the boy's attention to her with a click of her tongue. Reaching out to stroke his hair back from his face, she gives him a smile some might mistake for gentle, almost motherly. "That was missing something, wasn't it, little one?" she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. "Let's find something a bit different, shall we, then, and see if you can't figure out how to make next time a bit more enjoyable."

She wraps a companionable arm around his shoulder, turning him with an implacable will to face the huddle of mortals, some weeping, some too frightened to do even that. Picking out the least fearful of the young men, she pulls the boy with her. "This one, sweet. Bring him with us." She nudges a young man - the stable boy, if she recalls correctly - with one bare foot. "He'll do nicely."

Letting go of the boy, she turns to the handful of tables that are in the room, meant to be a common eating room for guests. It takes a moment to pick out the one she wants, beckoning the boy to follow her without providing any instructions. The table is just large enough for the stable boy to be laid out on it, if his legs dangle over the edge.

"Your belt, and his, sweet." Alysse holds out her hand, waiting patiently for the items to be handed to her. "I need him on the table, that's it." She smiles as the boy shoves the other backward so he stumbles against the table, before using both hands to haul him up onto the surface itself.

Taking a moment to knot the strips of fabric that are all the belts are around the stable-boy's ankles, she lashes them to the legs of the table, close enough that if he tries to get off, he'll fall on his face.

"You'll want to remove your tunic; this is ever so much better done nude." She's suiting her own actions to her words, her tunic and trousers tossed onto one of the other tables where they will be out of the way of most of the blood spatter. Her little obsidian knife she retrieves from her belongings, returning to where the boy stands uncertainly. "Now, we'll begin with something simple, nothing too difficult for my dear brother to follow up. More complicated figures can wait until later."

The challenge in her words makes Methos smile. He watches Alysse carefully as she works, and the boy as well. He looks torn between fear and rapt attention, and Methos smiles again.

The stable-boy doesn't scream with the first cut, the obsidian blade sharp enough that he doesn't realize he _has_ been cut until after the cut begins to bleed. Straight lines, and shallow cuts, a brief example before she holds the blade out to the boy.

"Have some fun, sweet one." Alysse steps behind him, her chin on the boy's shoulder as she studies the stable-boy. "Find what you need. All that pretty crimson blood, sweet life flowing at your command. Think of it, little one, feel it."

Her voice is soft, the words flowing almost like some bard chanting a story. Lulling and deceptively gentle. Mocking the pain and the fear that rises from the boy on the table, twisting it from something to shy away from into something to crave. Like a treat that becomes an addiction, pushing the boy closer, and making him stare at the crying stable-hand on the table. Someone who'd once been almost a friend, and now... now, he's just a toy to be played with, and a pawn in the game being played.

Methos gets up and pours himself a cup of wine before sitting back down again, watching - not the stableboy, but the other one. Pain appeals to this one for its own sake, though Methos is fairly sure that the boy hadn't known that about himself before today.

Alysse smiles as she watches the boy hesitate, not out of unwillingness to play, but thinking on where to start. Her eyes all but glow as he begins to play, his cuts more precise than she would have expected, never quite in the right place to kill, but certainly enough to cause no little pain and no little blood. Enough that eventually, despite the avoidance of places which will bleed the stable-boy out faster, it does drain enough of his blood that he dies, screams fading to whimpers and to nothing.

The boy seems to be disappointed, and turns to look at the huddled mortals of his own accord, hand tight around the borrowed knife. As if looking for his next victim, and not quite sure if he's allowed.

"Your play, dear brother. I think the boy needs a new distraction; he's broken his toy." Alysse grins, slinking over to where Kronos leans against the wall, and curling up at his feet like some exotic and dangerous creature. Watching the mortals with a predatory eye, waiting to see what Methos will do with the boy.

Methos looks up from his wine, and at the boy. "What do you want to do next?" he asks. They've shown the boy that the rules mean nothing - now Methos wants to see what he'll do, unrestrained. "Go ahead," he says, gesturing towards the mortals. "Pick one."

The boy is startled by the question, and he looks at Methos with a moment of confusion on his face. Confusion that clears after a moment, replaced by a small smile that's a mix of glee, pride, and malice. It makes him look almost mad, eyes fever-bright as he looks over the remaining mortals. Aware now of a rising desire and arousal, fed by the fear on the faces of those still living, and the thought of the pain he could put them through.

He doesn't hesitate this time, wading in without seeking the assistance of the others, dragging the young man who'd tried to defend the serving girl earlier out of the pack. He barely pauses for breath before laying open the boy's cheek from ear to chin, his grin widening at the sight of blood. Reaching out to dip his fingers in the cut even as the other tries to clap his own hand to the ruined cheek, and bringing the blood to his lips.

"Anything I want?" he asks, looking at Methos with a hopeful expression.

"Anything," Methos tells him, curious as to what the boy wants to do.

The grin that crosses the boy's face makes the one in front of him blanch, and try to scramble away. He doesn't get far before the boy tackles him, sending him sprawling, winded long enough for the boy to slice cleanly across one of his heels, severing the tendon and hobbling him effectively. A scream rips from his throat a moment later, echoed by the girl he'd been trying to protect earlier.

Turning, the boy stalks the serving girl, grabbing her by the hair, and not even bothering with a threat before he slices her tunic away, and then into her flesh, cutting from sternum to navel. Pushing her to the already bloodied floor a few feet away from her lover. He looks between the two, blood-spattered and clearly aroused, panting as he thinks for a long moment before pouncing again.

The young man struggles to get away, hampered by his injured leg, and the boy cuts his back to ribbons, blood flowing bright and free as he pins the older, larger boy to the floor. A gleeful smile crosses his face as he presses against the ruined flesh, rubbing his cock over the deepest slice, just beside the spine, gasping at the feel of flesh against his.

"Oh, we made the right choice," Methos murmurs, with a glance at Kronos. This one is nicely twisted, and seems to have been even before they'd gotten their hands on him, if that's where his mind and desires are going. "He certainly has interesting tastes."

"Interesting indeed, brother." Kronos grins slightly, reaching down to stroke Alysse's hair as she chuckles at the boy's games. She'd seen something in him earlier, Kronos can tell, and he wonders if this was it, or if it had been something else.

The boy ignores his audience and whatever they're saying in favor of satisfying the hunger that's rising along with the pleasure. It doesn't last, as the older boy's screams fall to hoarse whimpers, and another slash with the knife doesn't evoke nearly the sort of reaction it had before. Not enough energy left in the other to react enough, and the boy scowls, kicking the larger boy hard in the ribs, pushing him over so he can get at the softer flesh of his belly and throat.

Methos gets to his feet, crossing the room to refill his wine glass. Mortals are more interesting when they're still alive to react to what's being done to them, but he doesn't want to interrupt the boy. He wants to see where this will lead, and what sort of things are driving the child.

It's no longer about reaction, or if it were, there are still others beyond the corpse or the serving girl who's bled out nearby. And indeed, the stifled moans from those still living, and the mutters of his being a demon that should have been left where he'd been found to die are enough to buoy his mood. He'd show them demon. The knife cuts through flesh easily, though it's slippery with blood in his fist as he works through flesh toward what he wants. It doesn't cut through bone, so he reaches up from below instead, finding the heart perhaps more by accident than he knows.

Cutting it free, and grinning, bloodied and cheerful as he pulls it out, giving the living ones a look that makes them flinch away, and the inn-keeper to repeat his earlier mutter about the boy being a demon louder. "And I'll have your heart too, old man," he says, laughing as he lifts the heart, letting the blood drain into his mouth and across his face.

Methos flicks a glance at Kronos and Alysse, both of whom seem to be watching the boy with interest. He stifles his own flicker of unease, reminding himself that he'd been a slave yesterday, denying himself and everything he was. If this bothers him, it's because he's letting it, and using standards that he should have left behind centuries ago.

Alysse leans her head back, looking up at Kronos, a dark expression crossing her face for a moment at the repeated, and again louder insistence on the part of the house owner that the subject of their game was a demon. An expression that becomes ugly when he adds that the three who are playing the game must be as well.

"Are you done with your current game, brother?" Kronos has a glint in his eyes that doesn't bode well for the man who's making trouble of himself. He glances at Methos, his smile sharp as the knife the boy still holds tightly to.

"Go ahead." Methos waves his free hand. He's heard that sort of remark too often to be upset by it any more - though it does make him curious to see what kind of response Kronos and Alysse will come up with. The boy is more creative than he'd expected, but he's sure the other two will come up with a much better response.

Alysse uncurls, looking to Kronos for a long moment before a slow smile crosses her face, and she goes to the boy, petting his hair a moment before reaching for her knife. "You know where the kitchen is. Bring me all the knives they have in there. And any other knife you know where is."

The boy looks confused a moment before he scrambles to do as he's been told.

Kronos pushes off the wall, going to haul the innkeeper to his feet by the collar of his tunic. "You've forgotten that gods are not all benevolent." He chuckles and grins at the sputtering from the man, and the wide-eyed look of fear that the mortal gives him. Hauling him toward the wall, Kronos accepts the bronze knife Alysse has scooped from where it lay on the floor.

He takes the man's hand, and holds it against the wall before driving the knife through it and into the wall with one powerful blow. Grinning at the scream that it draws from the mortal's throat before he steps away, letting Alysse closer. She merely grabs the man's other wrist before he can try to pull the knife out, waiting for the boy to return with another knife so Kronos can pin the other hand to the wall in the same fashion. It won't hold too long, but it will hold long enough.

"Here." Methos puts his glass down and crosses the room, drawing a knife of his own and driving it into the man's hand in one smooth movement. He's not sure which troubles him more: the boy's actions or his own pleasure in both those actions and the ones he himself has taken. One look at Alysse, though, her eyes bright and her face flushed, quiets those worries, at least for the moment.

Kronos laughs, and reaches out to draw Methos close to him. "We'll kill this one last, brother, let him watch all we do and let the boy do."

"A pity we can't let him see what the boy truly is, a god waiting to be reborn." Alysse smiles, perching on the stairs once more as she waits for the boy to return with the knives - even if they aren't needed to hold the man, they'll still be useful. "I'd want him a little older yet before doing that, and no need to keep such as that around so long."

"I agree." Methos has seen Immortals who were frozen in childhood, and it's never a pretty sight. Add in the issues that the boy clearly has, and it becomes a recipe for disaster. The mortal they've pinned to the wall starts to say something. Methos backhands him casually.

"You can live without your tongue," he reminds the man, smiling faintly.

Alysse's smile becomes a grin, and she glances once more toward the kitchen, beckoning the boy toward them when she sees him appear in the doorway with the knives he was sent for. "Now, whatever you've planned, brother of mine." She looks to Kronos with amusement in her eyes, waiting to see what he does.

Kronos looks over the dwindling group of victims, already getting bored of the simple games. And the boy's interest earlier has provided an idea. "Bring her here." He takes the knives from the boy and nods sharply toward the mother of the girl still huddled on the floor, though at least the younger woman has crept off to the side a little, so she's not in the way. "And the girl."

Once more so Kronos can demonstrate before leaving the boy to imitate, though this time it's a task far different. If he's so interested in what lies inside a body, Kronos intends to show him how to make it last as long as possible before the victim dies.

Methos retrieves his wine and reclaims his chair, pulling it over next to the innkeep and settling in to watch. It's not an unfamiliar sight. He'd studied medicine in Greece a few years ago, with a man who'd used the living bodies of condemned criminals to further educate himself and his students. The purpose here is a little different, but the result is the same.

"He's really very talented," he tells the innkeeper, who can't seem to decide which is worse: his own eventual fate, or what's happening in front of them. "Kronos, I mean. The boy will be, once he's had a decent education." Taking a sip of wine, he smiles dryly at the man. "I'm guessing you're wishing you'd treated the boy like a son instead of a slave. Maybe if you survive this, you'll remember to behave with proper respect towards your betters." Methos is toying with the idea of letting the man live - suitably chastised, of course.

The boy's imitation of this isn't nearly so clumsy as the last game, though still messy and without nearly the same skill as Kronos. There is a far more gleeful and satisfied smile on his face once he's finished, though, and he licks the blood off his lips after once more draining the heart. A strange thing all his own, that Kronos hasn't seen in his travels before - and certainly isn't a local one, or if it is, one kept obscure.

Kronos waves an expansive hand at the remaining victims, the guests that had been collected along with the owner, his family, and servants. "Your game, sister."

Alysse hums, leaning back on the stairs, unheeding of her continued nudity as she looks over the four men. "And yet we've left little unexplored entirely, though there is still so much more that can be built upon." She looks over at the boy for a long moment, tilting her head slightly to one side. "We've seen you work with blades, but that is only one way to kill a man. Pick one, pet, and remove his clothing, it gets in the way. I want to see you work with your hands."

"Not this one, though." Methos smiles at the innkeeper. "This one gets to live." The flash of relief and gratitude in the man's eyes makes Methos smile more widely. He'd suspected that the mortal would react that way, and is curious to see how far he can push it. He's fairly sure he can make the man thank them when this is all over, and not by force, either. He wants to see just how much damage he can cause and still leave the man grateful once it's over. Blood and pain may be enough for Kronos and Alysse, but Methos wants to break the man's mind as well as his body: to see just how far he can take the man apart mentally.

Shrugging carelessly, Kronos settles against the wall where he has a decent view of the boy and his chosen victim. Watching as the boy uses one of the knives to cut the one man's tunic to ribbons while trying to get it off him, before tossing it aside with a grin that's bright and some might call mad.

"If you want to spare him, brother, do so." It doesn't matter to Kronos, so long as he has his fun. Though the victims are swiftly becoming boring; none left have enough spirit to make it truly worth his while. Let the boy kill them all however he likes, Kronos will be content - and happy once they're gone from Carthage, traveling once more.

"I want him to live," Methos corrects, watching the man's face. "I have no intention of _sparing_ him." He stands up, and puts a gentle hand on the mortal's head - then tightens his grip and uses the man's hair to jerk his head back, amused by the way he tries instinctively to grab Methos' hand, only to be brought up short by the blades in his own. "Have you ever seen a man beg to have his tongue cut out, or to lose his eyes, or his hands? The trick is to make the alternative even worse - and this one strikes me as the sort who'd give anything to keep breathing. I think we should oblige him. Though I think I'll let him keep his tongue after all. It's hard to beg without one - or to tell the rest of the mortals what's coming for them."

"I like the way you think, brother." Alysse shifts on the stairs, leaning forward with her arms resting against her thighs. "Such a beautiful thing, and so delightfully cruel in mercy." She flicks a glance at the boy, chuckling when he gets the man on the floor by the simple expedient of tackling him at the knees. "Something our little pet might never learn, I fear, but he has his own beauty."

"I've had time to refine my technique." Methos shrugs. "Besides, you did say you wanted him to see what the boy would become - and I must admit, I'm becoming fond of the idea of sending him before us - sort of a harbinger, if you will. At least, until he begs me to take his feet. He reminds me of a man I knew once, about five hundred years ago. Maybe he's a descendant." The mortal is no longer paying attention to the others, or their suffering. Instead he's watching Methos with an expression of sheer terror. The look in his eyes is as sweet as anything Methos has seen in a century or more. He'll probably tire of the game before the boy is old enough for first death, but in the meantime, he plans to enjoy himself.

"Giving them warning, and heightening their terror - or giving them the false hope they might defend themselves." Alysse laughs, her eyes bright with delight. It's an expression that makes Kronos smile as widely as the sight of the boy pounding the head of the man he's knocked down into the floor.

"A slave and some entertainment as we travel." Kronos hadn't bothered with the thought when it had been merely himself and Alysse traveling, but now the idea has more appeal. With three of them to watch each other's backs, and the boy to train before they kill him and make him one of them, there's more to terrify slaves and keep them in line. And they'd be able to carry proper tents and whatever spoils they cared to from raids. "You're planning for more than I, brother." He means it as a compliment, and makes sure his tone conveys that.

"I want them to be terrified," Methos says, to cover the sense of pleasure Kronos' words and tone spark in him. He's been alone for a long time, and the strength of the attachment he's forming for the other two, as well as the swiftness of it, is as disturbingly welcome as the fear in the faces around them. "I want them to know that they're going to die, and that there's nothing they can do to stop it - and to know that we _aren't_ going to, and that nothing they can do will change that, either."

"And with one such as you plan for him to be, there shall be such terror. Gods of the wild places come to wreck their vengeance on mortals who dare tread where the gods walk." Alysse hums happily, before gesturing at the boy. "I think he's done with that one, if you wish to set him another game. Or we can call it done, and finish the rest ourselves."

"Finish them," Methos decides, "but let the boy help." He wants to be ahorse and on their way out of Carthage before it gets too late in the day. "Eventually someone is going to come looking for them, and the three of us can't take on a garrison the size of the one they keep here. Not yet, anyway." He's made plans for various warlords for a very long time, and given some a reputation that had outlived them by centuries. Now, though, he'll get to plan for himself, and to make the three of them more feared than anyone has ever been. "By the time we're done, there won't be a city in the world that won't panic when it learns we're coming."

Kronos laughs, and scoops up one of the discarded knives to toss to the boy. "Enjoy yourself, boy." He scoops up a knife for himself, looking over at Methos and Alysse, a grin on his face as he waits for them to chose their victims first. He has no intention of drawing this out, himself, not after the reminder that there will be others to deal with sooner rather than later. And he has no doubt that when the garrison sees who it is that's lived, and the gory deaths that those here have died, they'll do whatever they may to destroy the four of them utterly. He's not ready to die, nor shall ever be.

Methos wastes no time either on selecting his victims or dispatching them. The closest one gets his knife through the throat before he moves onto the next, hoping to finish before one of them realizes that screaming - though it would have meant death earlier - is the only thing that might give them a chance of survival. It won't - but it will bring company before Methos wants to have it. There's likely to be a decent amount of money hidden somewhere here, and he's tired of being poor.

Alysse shakes her head, letting Kronos have his way - there are only the four left, anyway - while she rises from the stairs, heading for the sleeping rooms once more in search of anything they can take with them. No point in leaving anything useful behind. Although first, perhaps, a brief bath to wipe the drying blood from her skin where it's beginning to itch.

The boy takes his cue from Methos - and from Kronos' equally swift execution of a third victim - and pounces on the last of them, driving the knife he'd been given through the man's back and into his heart with only a flicker of regret for the lost pain. Though now, he's not sure what to do, or what will happen to him. He hopes they'll allow him to live, but beyond that, he doesn't know what he wants. Other than a chance to taste that heady feeling of freedom again, maybe.

Methos wipes his blade clean on a dead man's shirt before pouring some water from one of the pitchers over first one hand, then the other. Once he's finished, he crosses the room and backhands the innkeeper casually across the face, then hits him again to make his point well-felt.

"Your money. Where is it?" The man stammers out the location without even hesitating, which is mildly disappointing, but likely to save them some time. Methos looks at the boy. "Watch him. Don't hurt him unless he tries something, though. I'm saving him for later."

The boy nods, and after a moment, sits on the bottom-most stair, watching the man who'd once been all but his master with a feral gleam in his eye, almost hoping he'll try something. He hadn't gotten his revenge on all of those who'd harmed him here, but it could wait if that's what he's told.

Kronos glances at the boy, a small frown crossing his face before he shrugs, using the water remaining in the pitcher Methos had used to wash his own hands. Alysse's likely finding what she wants upstairs, the boy has a task of his own, and Methos is going to fetch the money, which leaves only the horses for them to be ready to leave. And he'd seen some decent ones in the stable when he'd taken his own horse in - the care of his own animals is a long-ingrained habit stretching back to his mortal life, and he won't let another touch his horse even now.

He gives one last look to the boy, and a brief, unfriendly grin to the innkeeper before heading for the stables for horses. They may as well empty the stalls of anything worth taking, and let the rest loose. No need for them to suffer too greatly for their masters' deaths.


End file.
